


Book 2 Loving

by 221B_Johnkhanlocked



Series: Sherlock Holmes- Consequences and Cases [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Domestic Discipline, F/M kiss, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221B_Johnkhanlocked/pseuds/221B_Johnkhanlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happily engaged finally, Sherlock and John return to their flat to find someone waiting for them. Sherlock's twin brother means well but can the gifted detective overcome his fears of losing John's love?  Will John be able to help ease his concerns before Sherlock loses all control again and drives everyone insane?</p><p>#Tags: Johnlock! Explicit GAY sex ahead and yes, as always, consensual domestic discipline and light BDSM. </p><p>Not my characters, just play with them. I make no money from this piece of FAN FICTION.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unwelcome Visitor

Book 2 LOVING

Sherlock:

“I’m not afraid of Mummy or Mycroft,” I announce, trying to sound very certain of myself. I can see from the subtle tense line by John’s mouth that he doesn’t believe I’m certain. He knows when I’m fibbing, even when it’s just to myself.

“It would be a mistake, Sherlock, if you think I won’t tell on you,” My brother replies curtly. We can hear the phone ringing in the background. I fidget and finally relent the moment I hear Mum say hello and snatch the phone from my brother’s hand. I turn it off without speaking, hand it back and give him a dark look of annoyance.

“How did you get in here anyway?” I demand.

He digs a moment into a pocket and produces a key. “Mycroft sent me the spare, remember? In case I ever needed to check on you?"

“Sherlock, maybe you could introduce us,” John tells me. I’m stunned John’s interested but then again, my brother has that effect on most people.

I wave towards my brother, “My twin, Benedict. Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch Holmes to be precise in the matter. You might have seen him in a movie once.”

A soft snort from Benedict greets this, “I WAS in more than one movie, Sherlock.”

“If you insist, not that it matters in the least to me!”

“Oh, yes, is he the reason why you kept forwarding through most of that new Star Trek movie …I heard it was a nice performance, “ John gushes to Benedict before I can kick my brother out. 

I manage to push ahead anyway with a snarl, “Fine, you’ve been introduced. Now leave, Benedict.”

John’s patience is always a bit short. He stares at me with laser vision until I back away a step. He then switches modes and tells my brother, “Benny… may I call you that… thank you. You may stay. Have a drink if you can find anything and help yourself to the biscuits- in the BROWN tin, not the RED one unless you want freeze-dried human kidneys. We will be RIGHT back. I just need to speak to Sherlock in private a moment.”

“WE do not need to DISCUSS anything, John… my brother…ow…”

My protest is cut short by John’s sudden grip on my ear. He yanks me out of the kitchen and into the far corner of the sitting room. He growls low and harshly, “What is WRONG with you? No, never mind. DON’T answer that! If you don’t want to end up in time out in front of your brother then SHAPE UP, Mister! As far as I know- drop that face- as far as I know, he is not a criminal and won’t be treated like one in this flat. Whatever he did to you personally is another matter. I will listen to your side, later, I promise. Right now, he’s a guest. Are we clear?”

My frown in return earns me a pinch to the ear. He asks again, this time deadly serious, “SHERLOCK HOLMES, Are. We. Clear?”

My pout would melt the heart of a weaker man. He holds up one finger. I understand what it implies.

“Fine,” I mutter finally, submitting. “But one favor?”

“Yes, what is it?”

I sigh. Hopefully my answer won’t surprise John or prove to be impossible. “Try not to like him, please.”

\----------------------------------------

My annoying twin brother glances up at us as John and I re-enter the kitchen. He’s the pretty one, the funny one, and Mum’s FAVORITE son. I hate him. All I have is the brains. But Benny is nearly as smart, equal to at least Mycroft’s level and he can see I’m still angry and annoyed. Quickly reaching his own deductions he tries to appease me. He softly drawls,“ All better now, Shezza? Didn’t mean to disrupt your lovely home life.”

John glances at me, puzzled and says smugly to me, “I thought Shezza was only a name you use on undercover cases.”

Sigh. See ,this is why I don’t tell people things. This isn’t important to me but obviously John wants to know so I explain, “He NEVER could say Sherlock when we were very little. It was his name for me.”

“Still call big brother Mikes, easier than MYCROFT.” Benedict says as he dusts crumbs from his shirtfront. “Always had trouble with a few other words like pen…well, the damn black and white Antarctic birds!”

“PENQUINS, Benedict!” I sneer at him. “PEN. QUINS.”

John holds up two fingers. One more and I’ll find myself in the corner. I spread my hands on the table, taking in a steadying breath. “Fine. Welcome, Benedict. Now why are you here?” I ask. There’s only a TOUCH of defiance in my voice.

“I wanted to make amends. I’ve actually missed my twin brother.”

I observe at once that this isn’t entirely the truth. I point it out to John with a frown. Our silent communication is getting better by the day. He nods that he sees it too. I press my brother, “That’s not all of it, Benedict. WHY are you here REALLY?”

“Ok, truth be told I also wanted to talk to you about possibly trailing with you for a bit of research and character study, Sherlock. I have a new part in a movie playing a detective and thought I could gain some insight from you.”

“Once you complete your research, you’ll leave?”

There’s just a touch of sadness in my twin’s face, his mesmerizing eyes taking on the old hurt look from long ago. I’m not buying it. He’s a damn good actor but I’m not out to give him a BAFTA.

“When the research is complete, yes. If that’s what you really want.” Benedict says. 

\----------------------------------------  
After Benedict leaves for the night, my beloved John calls me over to his chair and I crawl right into his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I sigh deeply. Before he can speak I place a long finger over his soft lips, press a kiss to his chin and shake my head. I tell him lightly, under my breath, “Please don’t ask. No, he’s not a bad person. Yes, it was wrong of me to try to hide his existence from you…”

A snort of mirth shakes John’s beige jumper covered chest. I look him in the face and view him with suspicion. “What?”

“I knew he was your twin, Sherlock. I’m not a complete idiot. Anyone can see the resemblance if they just observe.”

“How long have you known?”

John strokes my hair until I close my eyes from the pleasure. I listen as he speaks, “Oh, for a good long time now. You were on a case, I had just finished my on-call hours and when I was bored I went to see Imitation Game. I saw you reflected within that performance, it confirmed things for me. To be honest, I had my suspicions before… how that dragon, Smaug, sounded so much like you when you are deducing… the cartoon penguin thing I tried to watch before you snatched out the disc and tossed it into the fireplace claiming it was sorely lacking plot … how you steered me away from the theater several times even though I love Hamlet… anything starring or voiced at least by one person… Benedict Cumberbatch. I was just wondering how to bring it up with you actually… then conveniently, he shows up.”

I lift my head and give him my best stare, “Why did you want to bring it up? It could have stayed just the same as far as I’m concerned.”

John gives me his special frown of worry and I swallow, I hate making him feel concerned. He whispers, “ I love you, Sherlock. Knowing that Harry will likely blow me off, I want to have both of your brothers at your wedding. Now do you think that’s possible, baby?”

Stubbornly I set my chin on my chest and cross my arms. I answer him with a lift of my brow that means Hell, no, my twin is NOT welcome at my wedding. I add in a sneer that says that Benedict can just go crawl back into his own part of the world where EVERYBODY loves him. I finish with a loud flourish of a scowl that clearly tells john that I’m not budging on the matter.

John just smiles after all that and says, “Glad that’s settled. I think bringing you two back together will be nice. We can set him at a table with Molly. Can you imagine? She’s a big fan, isn’t she?”

I scoff, “We really need to work on your nonverbal communication skills, John.”

“Nonverbal, hmmm?” He says with a sly wink. He adds as he caresses my face, “We can go practice them now, if you wish. We had a long day, remember?”

\---------------------------------------

I settle into my thinking pose on the sofa long after John and I have ‘practiced’ communicating with just our bodies and he’s now finally slumbering away the stress of the day. As per norm, I can’t sleep. The quiet of the flat gives me the perfect opportunity to think and consider things. The most important item to address is whether I wish to fully disclose to John as to why I’m at odds with my twin brother. I don’t wish to but I know he’ll press the issue. It doesn’t seem like it will matter in the long run anyway. If I tell him my reasons John will likely side with Benedict, saying I’m being sentimental and petty. He’ll closely examine my feelings- ones lying deeply buried and yes, perhaps I AM afraid of them. He might even scoff at me, though my John rarely teases me, about there being a FEMALE love interest that came between my twin and I.

I suppose if John had been there back in my pre-Uni days and had known HER, he’d understand easily enough. 

\--------------------------------------

I descended quickly into my Mind Palace and exited the sprawling building, this time from a patio door. In the past once again, I found myself outside my parent’s summer cottage. I walked along the path that will take me out to the lake and docks.

Becky was in her bikini, siting on her towel between Benny and I. We hadn’t yet been into the water and she’d been daring us.

The day was bright and Becky’s smile just made it feel even warmer somehow. She and I had just gotten our braces off that afternoon. We kept running our tongues over our naked teeth and Benedict watched us with envy. His wouldn’t come off for several more months- he has teeth more like dad. Becky rolled her head towards me, grabbed my hand and tugged me closer for a look at my mouth as she bared her choppers like fangs and playfully growled. She shrieked, placing the other hand on Benedict’s arm as she laughed. “OH MY GOD, it feels like my teeth are sliding out! How about yours, Sherlock?”

“It feels oddly like that, yes.”

Again the shriek and laugh as she tried to scold me, “OH MY GOD, Sherlock! Listen to you all so serious! You are eighteen going on nineteen, not NINETY!”

Benny’s chuckle hung in the air over us and I gave him a glare as he ran his hand through his ginger curls. Even though we are not identical we look enough alike to fool people briefly if he wears a hat. I can fake his easy smile and he can act my aloofness perfectly. Right then I found his happy and open face to be annoying as hell considering that when he was still, sad or silent I saw myself reflected. I told him grumpily, “It is not that amusing.”

Becky swept her black tresses over her shoulder, punched my arm and grinned at me, “Ah, Sweet Shezza, don’t get grumpy! It’s a great day! The bloody damn braces are off… oh, stop fretting, Benny. Yours will be off soon enough! You two don’t head off for your Gap Year locations until next Friday…Nepal and Italy, imagine that! I want to enjoy this time… just the three of us… we so rarely get the chance to see each other as it is. Let’s not waste our last summer.”

Benny gave in to her first. He tapped her shoulder in a silly game of tag and jumped head long off the dock into the lake. Becky took a moment to raise a brow questionably at me then she waved at Benny waiting in the water. Speaking to me from the side, I could barely catch her words as the wind whipped past us, “Sherlock, are you ok? You seem lost somehow. I don’t know. Just not yourself lately.”

“I am fine. No concerns.”

She straightened the straps over her shoulders, sighed and nodded, “I figured that’s what you say. Well, remember, Shezza, I’m here… if you need to talk anything over.”

“You have always been there, I know. But really, there’s nothing wrong that I can’t handle on my own.”

She spun and gave me her best glare. She couldn’t maintain it long. Her personality was just too bubbly to stay frustrated with me for more than a few minutes. She stated rather bluntly, “That’s my point, idiot. You ARE NOT alone. You don’t have to handle things on your own if you don’t want to. You have Benny and me. You always will!”

With that Becky turned, gracefully sprinted to the end of the dock and dove in. I sat and watched them for a while that day. They giggled and played like the old friends they were. I just couldn’t make myself join them for some reason.

Later in the evening, we sat around the kitchen table as Mum puttered about us, lifting pans, stirring spoons in bowls and generally making a clattering, loud fuss over making a meal. Mum knows all the old stories and loves to share them to whoever will listen while she cooks. She retold the one about my days as a pirate and though I tried to interrupt to remind her we already know the story, she waved me silent, “Now hush, Sherlock. As I was saying, Becky came into the house…her eyes as big as plates. I thought maybe one of you boys had gotten hurt. Then when she started crying I knew something had happened.”

Becky grinned at me across the table and points, “THAT was a lot of blood, Sherlock. You could have told me it wasn’t yours!”

Benny snatched a cookie as Mum passed with the fresh batch, yelped mildly and blew on his fingers. Mum slapped at his hand and while she was turned his direction I confiscated my own from the plate. Mum growled over her shoulder. “I saw that Sherlock, don’t think for a second I didn’t catch you too. Now, no more before dinner or I’ll set my wooden spoon to good use on the two of you!”

Hurriedly, Benny and I answered as we stuffed our faces, “Yes, Mum, sorry.”

Becky snickered at us and asked sweetly, “May I have one, Mrs. Holmes?”

Of course, Mum had always been a sucker for Becky’s charm. “Yes, dear, have two. I’m certain my boys will steal another in a few minutes anyway.”

Becky took her two cookies and handed us each one more. She adored our mother and her stories so she reminded her, “Mrs. Holmes, the blood?”

“Ahhh yes, so in came, Becky, white as a sheet, crying something awful. Then right behind you…Benedict yelling something about it not being HIS fault. My goodness I thought Sherlock had gone and gotten himself killed by the way you two were carrying on! I think it was when you were ten, is that right, boys?”

Benny nodded.

“Then slowly up the path strolls the king of pirates himself, absolutely drenched in blood and grinning like a Mad Hatter. Father saw him first thankfully or I would have passed clean away from a heart attack! Sherlock, really! The frights you’ve given me! In any case, boys, your father hided the two of you good for buying the pig blood from the butcher and using it to scare Becky and I almost to death.”

I waved off her accusation, “I wasn’t trying to scare anyone to death. Point in fact, I was recreating the famous death scene…”

Mum lifted her heavy wooden spoon and shook it at me. Wisely I sat back and munched on my cookie as she turned away to finish baking and fixing the evening meal.

After supper, Mycroft, Benedict and Father are discussing something in the news that only mildly interested me so I took ahold of Becky’s hand and squeezed. She glanced at me and nodded. We communicated very well non-verbally. We excused ourselves and strolled out into the yard.

“I hate that story.” I told her. “I wish if she’s going to embarrass me at least to tell the one about the bees.”

Becky giggled and added fondly, “Oh the time we were what? Six? And you got that bee in your trousers? I laughed so hard at your running around like a maniac, screaming, that I threw up and then Benny threw up because he watched me.”

“The bee stung me, if you recall?”

“Yep, and your aunt Grace pulled your pants down too to check on it. Oh My God, Sherlock, I thought I’d never breathe again, I just couldn’t stop laughing.”

I grew quiet and glanced at her, considering. I said, “We’ve known each other a long time.”

“Forever,” She stated, resting a soft hand over mine reassuringly.

“Not LITERALLY forever but certainly a long time. You know me well,” I answered automatically. I continued before she could interrupt, ”Listen, you are correct. I’ve been reflecting upon something… I’m not sure…how to address this.”

“Just say it. That’s the best way. Always to the point, as a certain young man always tells me.”

Did I always say that? I supposed I did. I gritted my teeth and inhaled deeply through my nose. Right, here it goes. I told her, “I need just one more point of data in my experiment. Will you kiss me?”

Her eyes widened slightly but thankfully she didn’t laugh. She went onto her tiptoes, reached up to my face to tilt it towards hers and planted her soft, warm lips against mine. Feeling a bit awkward, we just stood that way a moment until she backed away finally, wiping her mouth on her hand.

“You know that data might not mean anything though,” She told me softly with a sigh. “I don’t have a lot of experience. So how was it?”

It was interesting. Not at all what I expected. How can a heart feel so full but a kiss that is supposed to clinch things feel so empty?  
She stood there waiting and I realized I hadn’t spoken aloud. I finally synthesized the data and said, honestly, “Warm and wet.”

Becky rolled her eyes at me, “Very scientific answer. Try again.”

“Like kissing my sister, if I had one.”

Becky inclined her head. She patted my hand again and agreed, “Yes, it was… uneventful. But again, I don’t really know what I’m doing. Did the data help with your experiment?”

Uncertain what it all meant, I blurted out, “Yes but I don’t understand. I think I love you and yet, there was no big reaction … no angels singing in the skies…”

She spread her arms wide and invited me into her embrace. “Oh, sweetie, I love you too. But it’s not romantic love… it’s something deeper…more special. You and I are family.”

“Not literally…”

“Sherlock, shut up. No, we are not literally family but still…figuratively we ARE brother and sister. I’m just so proud of you to even think about something so sentimental as love, though.”

“But Becky, I think… no, I’m certain now… I’m gay.”

“And that’s fine, someday some guy will have you head over heels in love.”

A movement behind us drew our attention and Benny was standing near the cottage, arms crossed and watching us. He probably couldn’t hear us but he’d certainly seen us. He asked almost playfully, “Hey, can I kiss you too, Rebecca?”

I stiffened as Becky stepped away from me towards my twin. She didn’t seem to catch my discomfort. If I could I would have asked her not to honor his request but I couldn’t seem to get my brain engaged to speak suddenly. I watched as she mirrored her movements to press her lips against his. A moment into it and he pulled her closer as her stance softened. Although, I was not certain, as popular at school as he had always been, he was likely a damn good kisser. She broke away finally and sighing, she looked back at me. 

I think she finally caught my look of discomfort, She tried to lighten the mood, make it no big deal but I could see that my brother has entranced her. My chest tightened even as she joked, “Eh, just like my brother too. Oh well.”

We watched her as she reentered the house, leaving us facing each other in the evening light. As soon as she disappeared inside I shoved my brother’s chest. “Why did you have to do that?”

He seemed honestly confused but I wasn’t buying his act. I growled at him, “Not EVERYBODY loves you, BENEDICT. You’re not that DAMN SPECIAL!”

‘What did I do, Sherlock? Why are you so angry?”

“Go away and do not speak to me!” I screamed at him.

\----------------------------------------

I am suddenly brought forth from my Mind Palace by movement near me in the sitting room. John kneels by my side and extends a hand. “Come to bed, baby, it’s cold tonight.”

I sit up, grasp his hand and once standing, pull him close. I ask playfully, “Oh you want your personal heater in bed?”

John scoffs at me but answers with a nod. “Hard to sleep when your side of the bed is empty.”

“Hmmm,” I scold him lightly. “Thought you wanted me because you love me! Now I see I’m just your servant, the bed warmer!”

John steps up and kisses me. Hovering just over my lips he murmurs, “Shut up, Sherlock. I do love you. Now get that sexy, WARM ass to bed because I need more than warmth right now!" 

John has a glint to his eyes that drives a spike of wanting deep into my loins. He tugs upon my hand, our mouths locked again, as he backs towards the bedroom awkwardly guiding us. He nips at my mouth playfully and pants almost out of breath, "I need you in bed. NOW."

I shove him backwards onto the bed and dive in beside him, managing to entangle us both in sheets, robes and legs. He laughs at my impatience and exuberance. Lovingly, he strokes my face as I struggle to unwind us from all the fabric. With a swat to my fumbling hands, John not only manages to disrobe himself and me within seconds but also flips me firmly to my belly. Looking over my shoulder I see his hard need is jutting out, pointing the way to my body like a laser guided missile. I reach and stroke at it then rising to my knees and elbows, I tug at my own cock a few times. The pleasure is delicious and I wiggle seductively for him.

"Mmm, lovely sight," he groans. Within a moment I am breathless as I feel his hot, sloppy tongue at my entrance. I thrust myself back upon it, growling like a mad dog. My God the feeling! Even his chuckle and murmured words feel amazing, "Like this do you, boy?"

I stutter, unable to form a single logical thought. He licks, sucks and teases my hole until I am a babbling, squirming mess. Lube, very cold, dribbles onto me and I yelp in passion as his finger enters me roughly. I love when he just takes control and my body responds to him automatically, no thought process at all on my part. I feel free just to enjoy myself. His first finger is joined suddenly by two more, widening me almost too quickly but the burn adds to my desperation. I manage to find a few words somewhere in my brain. I utter them like a mantra, "Please, please, now! Need. you. now!"

He must need me just as badly. With a single hard thrust he's inside me, moaning. I drop my head to the pillow, sucking at it as I try to match his pace with my own back thrusts. Once we are in sync, he swats my ass playfully and I squeeze him mercilessly as he pulls back. The pressure makes him groan loudly and I'm thankful once again that Mrs. Hudson is a bit hard of hearing. 

He leans over me, plants his mouth against my shoulder, sucking and biting firmly. He’s been reading one of the books from House of Theoden, I’m pretty certain and I decide I really must friend the author, Nicholas Bella, on Facebook and thank him.

He reaches beneath my belly and strokes me into oblivion again. The heat and pace are building impossibly. I cannot breathe as white flames consume my body. Still nipping, I feel John's sounds turn to hot panting breaths of pure passion in my ears. He loses control of his rhythm and slams into me hard, groaning and softly cursing. After a few more violent thrusts, his hand releases my sensitive member and I nearly cum again from that sensation alone. We collapse forward, a pile of sweaty meat. Eventually he moves and lays gasping on his own side of the bed, his legs spread and his arm thrown over his face. 

As I come back to my senses, I snuggle closer to John, yawning in his face. His grey-blue eyes are half closed as he regards me silently. I swear I hear him thinking about me and feeling a little uneasy, I ask quietly, "What is it, John?"

"Will you ever stop questioning my love for you?" He whispers to me, his fingers shifting a curl of my hair out of my eyes. " You ARE lovable, you know? Worthy of being loved."

"Is that so?" I say trying to sound as if it doesn't matter.

"I wish you'd believe that, Sherlock. You deserve love- my love- and you shall always have it."

I tell him, "I know you love me, I really do. You are the best thing to ever to happen to me. I'm not entirely sure what I did to deserve your love but I accept it as mine. I know I haven't told you nearly enough that I love you too. I'm not a man of sentiment, John but damn it all to hell, I will gladly express sentiment for you if that helps put you at ease. My concern is not that you don't love me but that someone will steal your heart away. Oh, John, please don't let that happen. It will break my heart."

"Well, aren't you going to say something or did you... just now...only in your head?" John asks. He sighs as I blink finally. I suppose he has his answer. "What did you say in your head, Sherlock?"

"I love you, John."

He nods, kisses my nose and closes his eyes. Before he drifts away he murmurs, "So this thing with Benny... You're ok, right?"

No. How can he ask that? I'm NOT ok with my PERFECT twin suddenly re-entering my life and befriending MY John. 

At my hesitation to answer him, John’s eyes pop open and level a glare at me. "Well? Please answer out loud. My powers of deduction are sleepy."

I snort and then blink as he thumps me on the nose for laughing. I try to reassure him, "I'll be alright. It won't be a problem. I can handle this on my own."


	2. A Perfect Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is calm. He's eating. He's being polite. This is driving John insane. How long will this perfection last?
> 
> POV change marked with OoOOooOOoo.
> 
> Tags# Light CBT, sensory deprivation, rope bondage

John

The bedroom and flat are eerily silent. That sets my teeth on edge as soon as I wake. I groan as I sit up, still stiff from having spooned all night with a taller body. Sherlock is already out of the bed, his side stone cold. He may have left the room several hours before but I sense his whirlwind presence close by. I pad into the sitting area and I peek into the kitchen to find he's doing better than I expect. He's drinking coffee as he gazes into his microscope and he even manages a slight sound at me that might pass as a good morning. 

I greet him in turn, open the fridge cautiously and grab at the milk quickly before anything can crawl into my vision. I fix us both a small bowl of cereal and when he actually takes a few bites without complaint, I stand looking at him completely flummoxed. When, after a few moments, I continue to stare at him he glances at me uncertainly.

"Is something wrong?" He asks.

"I don’t know, is there? Who are you and where's Sherlock?" 

"John, I'm fine. I know you still expect me to be upset but I assure you I am not!" He reassures me.

I push a few Petri dishes aside and sit in a chair next to him. Picking up the paper without a further comment, I start to read and within a few seconds I hear him munching away again at his food. Abruptly, he’s tapping in a phone number on HIS mobile and starts to talk.

"Greg, may I see you this afternoon? I have a favor to ask. Yes, this IS Sherlock. NO, I’m not under duress. Listen will 3pm be convenient? Outstanding. Yes, I am bringing John. Oh and a visitor as well if that will be all right. Thank you."

I nearly choke on my breakfast. This is unnerving me. He's eating AND being verbal this morning. I drop the paper to stare at this total stranger in my kitchen. I gasp out, "Seriously, this has me worried now! What ARE you up to, Sherlock?"

"I am perfectly fine, John. I thought it would be a good idea to introduce Benedict to Greg before he joins me at a crime scene." 

"You didn't introduce me, you just threw me at poor Greg that first night!" I remind him.

"That was different," Sherlock answers, his head low over the microscope. As he jots down a note he adds as an afterthought, "You just sort of fell into place quite naturally. You belonged there with me. Even Greg sensed it right away."

"You are being sentimental, you know that right? And you are calling Lestrade by the correct first name? I think you might be losing it actually," I tell him.

“John, you are being overly dramatic. Benedict is a well-known actor and his sudden appearance at a crime scene might disrupt the forensics teams and detectives. I just want Greg’s permission and knowing him as I do, he’ll likely want to set up a security detail for my brother as well,” Sherlock explains patiently. 

“I’m keeping my eye on you today, keep this up and I may have you evaluated,” I say. I gave him the universal ‘I’m watching you, mister’ signal with my hand and he nods without any argument.

\-------------------------------------------------------  
Benedict, dressed incognito, still manages to get everyone’s attention. It’s amazing how fans recognized him under the ball cap, sunglasses, non-descript jeans and t-shirt but they do and rather quickly pass the news along. By the time we three sit with Greg in his tiny office we have a fairly large entourage hanging out casually in the main area. Every time I glance through the glass every officer, detective and tech tries to look busy and not as though they are trying to catch a glimpse of the detective inspector’s visitor.

Greg closes the louvered blinds and says, obviously irritated already, “Jesus, is it like that everywhere you go?”

Benny sheds the glasses and ball cap, laying them in his lap with long graceful fingers. He smiles almost shyly and answers, “Not always, no. I suspect the officer we encountered in the parking garage texted her friends inside. It spreads rather quickly after that.”

 

“Out in a public place, Greg, most people are too engaged in their own life worries and don’t spend it looking for actors.” Sherlock adds. “His presence won’t interfere with the Yard’s work at a crime scene.”

At the mention of his correct first name, Greg, startled, looks first at Sherlock then at me and I raise a brow and shrug. Greg drops into his chair behind his desk with his usual scowl in place. He says gruffly, “It better not, Sherlock. If one word leaks to the press, we’ll have a zoo.”

“I give you my word,” The twins say at the same time in the exact same tone. Benny peers at his brother in surprise and grins ear to ear in delight. “We haven’t done that in quite some time,” he remarks.

Swiftly Sherlock stands, completely ignoring his brother. When I catch the hurt look that crosses Benny’s face at this slight I resolve to have another discussion with Sherlock on being polite. Sherlock tells Greg, “I give you my word, Detective Inspector. I’ll take full responsibility of my brother. Please text me if anything appropriate arises for us. John will be working at clinic all week but we, that is, my brother and I of course, will be available at any hour. Benedict, please leave your number as well.”

Greg accepts Benny’s business card but frowns at Sherlock. He holds one hand up defensively. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

From his change of stance, I know my boy has entered his deduction state. He replies quickly and smoothly, “You will. Your shirt is neatly ironed and judging from the crumpled paper bag in the trash, someone lovingly provided a lunch. The young man from the club moved in then? No, don’t be that way. It’s fine, just look at John and I. Domestic bliss. You are happy, in a good mood at work, evidenced by the mix of pens and pencils in one container. You are not fussing with them, sorting them, as you usually do when stressed. Relaxed at work means you are more inclined to agree with me rather than argue petty points you know I’d win. So, yes?”

Greg’s eyes have glazed from it all. “Yes.” He grumbles.

“Right, then, no worries.” Sherlock winks at us and flows out the door with a flourish.

“Wow, I forgot he could be so, DRAMATIC,” Benedict says, blinking.  
\------------------  
I’m going to kill my drama king. I’m at work not 24 hours later, about to stitch up some kid’s knee and of course I get a phone call from the police station. The look I give the receptionist is such a common occurrence she just frowns back at me and hands me the phone. I slip off the nitrile gloves as I answer, “This is Dr. Watson. What’s he done now?”

The sharp laugh on the other end of the line could have been Sherlock’s but it’s too lighthearted. Benny says, “It’s me, Benny. Sherlock didn’t do anything really. He’s been great all day but well, thing is…”

I interrupt, “He left you at a crime scene didn’t he?”

“Um, yeah, they gave me a lift in a cruiser to the station thinking he might have come here. I don’t know where he is currently. We’ve all tried ringing him and texting. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving or where he was going. I wanted you to know, John. Anyway, I’m fine and I’ll take a cab home from here.”

“Listen, he does this all the time. He’s fine.” I reassure him. I’m going to kill him but there’s no need for his brother to know. “Did you get anything out of the experience at the crime scene?”

“Oh yeah, loads.” Benny replies and then adds, “You know, John, I can also deduce somewhat and I get the distinct feeling my brother is going to regret his little disappearance act. But you should know he talked about you all day. You matter more to him than anything. I think he is slowly learning how to be human, just be patient. Please don’t kill him.”

\----------------

I know he’s at home. I sense it the moment I mount the stairs two at a time. I slam the door behind me as I storm right up to him lying prone on the sofa, his fingers steepled, and a frown of concentration on his face. I glare down at him several seconds waiting for my presence to seep down into his subconscious. Eventually one eye peeps open at me and closes again immediately.

“I know you are not in your Mind Palace, Sherlock. Sit up and listen!”

“You left your umbrella at work I see, being wet has made you irritable,” My boy has the nerve to say. He doesn’t move from his position. With his eyes closed he cannot see my hands so I count aloud for him.

“One.”

Turning his head, his eyes open and regard me silently. Still no other movement of obedience.

“Two.”

“Why are you counting at me? I’ve done nothing wrong. I was polite to the idiots from the Yard. I solved their big mystery within a few hours and let them take the credit. I didn’t chase down any criminals. I behaved perfectly so there is no reason for you to be counting.” Sherlock informs me.

“Three. Right fine, you’ve made your choice then,” I say as snag his robe and pull him to a sitting position. 

With a startled grunt, he leans away from me and gives me the evil eye. “John, stop being obtuse. I’m not following you. Why am I in trouble?”

“You just left the crime scene without telling Greg you were leaving. One moment you are there, the next gone. With your history, he started looking for you on ledges and the rooftop. And further, you left somebody behind at the crime scene, didn’t you? Someone you were responsible for?” 

Sherlock puzzles over this. “You weren’t there. You are usually the one that tells Greg we’re leaving. I forgot. Busy day. Yes, that is a rule, I know. I’m sorry. I’ll remember next time. But who did I forget?”

“Benedict, your brother. I don’t believe you, Sherlock, how could you leave him like that?”

There is sly grin that quickly hides itself behind the facade of concern on my boy’s face. His voice is dripping in sarcasm, “Oh, Benedict! Hope he was all right. Didn’t get scared, did he?” 

“Sherlock Holmes, you left your brother at that crime scene quite deliberately! I know from experience how upsetting and disorienting that can be! You’ll call him and apologize to him.”

Sherlock crosses his arms stubbornly. As my volume rises, his perfect mask slips a moment. He’s acting. I can tell. For a moment I see the demon he hides inside. There comes a time in life you just know instinctually your loved ones affectations and pressure points. This pretense of calm demeanor and perfect behavior is really just the lost, lonely child deep within my Sherlock trying to pretend everything is all right when it isn’t. 

He’s placed me on the fence again. We’ve been through this before at least a thousand times if not more. He needs my support. He craves my control. I have to walk the tight rope between letting him make mistakes and learn from them on his own and guiding him with the discipline he desires. It’s not a comfortable place to be sometimes. I have to stay calm, plan my responses out and hope for the best.

With a slow breath I sit back and regard him. Finally he breaks eye contact and stares at his hands flexing on his lap. I lay one hand gently over them as I speak, "You’ve been trying VERY hard, Sherlock, to be perfect for me. It's taking a Hell of a lot of your concentration and effort. I don’t know how long you can maintain this but I want you to know that you don’t need to continue with the facade. You are scared for some reason that you’ll lose my love to Benedict. You are also insanely jealous of him and you don’t need to be. You, Sherlock Holmes, are an amazing man. The one I love.”

His voice is strained when he replies, "He does everything better. Everyone adores him.”

I remain very still watching my fiancé. He's taught me so much about observation over the years. I see his pulse is faster, his breathing too shallow. His face is paler than usual and most alarming, his hands are shaking under mine. He's at a breaking point. I take his hands into mine, hold them in my lap, stilling them. When he looks at me there are tears threatening to fall. I talk gently, trying to ease him down, "I knew something was amiss and I'm right. You are acting all right when you are clearly still on edge. And by the way, perfect to me is the way you are naturally, no acting required."

"But you prefer... my twin, at least how he behaves," Sherlock says as he searches my face for the truth. He adds, “All the open communication, the social skills. Don't tell me I'm wrong."

"Sweetie, of course I'd love for you to interact more freely with me and our friends but not at the cost of nearly burning you out. You ARE doing better overall, I promise. Anyway I didn't fall in love with an actor. I fell in love with YOU, all your quirks included!"

Sherlock looks stunned a moment but finally nods. "Are you certain, John?"

"Oh God Yes," I reiterate. "This Sherlock 2.0 is scaring me."

“So you’re not mad? I’m not in trouble for um, leaving Benedict at the crime scene and not telling Greg I was leaving?”

I smile and caress the hair from his forehead. “I didn’t say that, Sherlock. You even made me count, remember?”

“Go to the corner?” He asks, his downcast glance almost breaking my heart. Oh he’s good. Have to give him credit for trying, I suppose.

“Yes, I think a full hour will do you some good. I’ll call you over when I’m ready for you.”

\-------------------------------

Despite the rocking and bouncing on his toes and the deep, dramatic sighs, the time passes without too much fuss from my boy. His eyes widen slightly when he sees the new deprivation hood I bought for him but when timeout finishes he stands next to the kitchen table, ramrod straight and hands locked behind his neck. 

He’s already removed his clothes as is required during punishment and when I stand close to him he leans towards the warmth of my body. I cluck my tongue at him and he corrects himself immediately.

Gently I run a hand over his taught belly and smooth, nearly hairless chest. His breath hitches when I grab a nipple and twist it. The glaze in his eyes fills me with lust. I love his submission and accept it as his gift to me. I grasp his balls, lift them and drop them again listening to his sounds change from slight panting to a deep moan that makes me shiver. I tell him lovingly, “I own all of this. You are mine!”

His eyes close as I move behind him, slapping his ass once on each rounded globe. His pale skin responds beautifully with perfect handprints popping out. With one hand I spread his quivering cheeks and with the other, I press fingers against his hole and run them up and down his crack a few times. He wiggles away, almost takes a step but freezes when I swat him again. A low whimper slides from his lips, hardening me further. I continue to explore his body with my fingers, pinching and flicking his skin as I go. I explain, “You may think I’m harsh in punishing you over these small rule infractions. But I know you, Sherlock. I know you intimately now. I understand full well what needs to happen. Any failure must be corrected, my boy. I won’t tolerate you slipping backwards in your behavior and attitude.”

“I need you, John,” He whispers. 

“I know.” I reassure him. “I’m here.”

I pinch his ear lobe to remind him to stay silent from that point onwards. He quakes uncontrollably for a second and another anxious sigh slips out. He needs me to take full control. When I snap my fingers he opens his eyes and looks to me for direction. I point at the table which I have managed to clear and command, “Lay on your back, ass at the edge, knees pulled up.”

He follows my command. He is no longer whimpering or shivering. He trusts me.  
Flattered, I lean over him, caress his face and murmur in his ear, “I love you. I’m here to guide you, baby boy, don’t worry. You can’t stray too far from the right path. I won’t let you.”

I show him the deprivation mask, how it has two tiny nostril holes and thick leather straps to hold it in place. Along the back it also laces very tightly and can be locked in place for added effect. Before I slide it in place I kiss him deeply. Immediately he surrenders to it, sighing and groaning with need. I remind him, “This is punishment, boy, for leaving a crime scene and for abandoning your brother. This mask blocks out everything. It is very intimidating, I assure you. While it is on I want you to use the silence to actually THINK, not retreat into your Mind Palace. To help you with that, I’m going to apply pain. Again, young man, you disobeyed so you’ve earned this.”

Sherlock lifts his head so that I may secure it in place. Carefully I push back his curls on his forehead and ears so that they won’t tickle him unnecessarily. I yank hard on the laces as I tighten it to his face, secure all the straps and collar then finally click the tiny lock closed. With a pat to his leather hooded cheek, I alert him that I’m still present. His breathing is deep and steady through the nostril holes. 

I bind his arms over his head, looping the ropes over his wrists then to a bolt in the table’s side, locking them firmly together. I place a small bell in his hand that he knows to drop if he needs my attention. After he nods his understanding, I make quick work of his lower limbs. I tie a rope across his stomach, securing his legs at the knees in a bent position keeping him ready for me. A spreader bar is between his ankles and one length of rope around his nut sack connects them to it. If he struggles too hard, they will be tugged uncomfortably. His cock, which will get my main attention tonight, remains free and dribbles pre-cum in copious amounts all over his belly. 

I slip a rope through the collar’s D ring and tug it to join with the rope holding his arms. Having tied a secure knot, I pat his stomach before I leave the kitchen a few minutes to gather other needed items. His hooded face turns my direction, seeking me blindly. Without sound or visual input he’ll have no idea if I’ve left his side or stand there inches away. To the Deducing Machine it must be almost frightening not to receive data of any kind.

 

OooOOOooOOOOooOOOOooOOOOooOOOooOOO

SHERLOCK:

The darkness and silence are eerie and annoying. My mind is insisting I’m about to be touched or struck and I can’t calm my pounding heart enough to see if I can use any other sense to determine John’s whereabouts. This is worse than being drugged and unaware. There is hyper-awareness of the temperature of the room, of subtle air currents passing over me, and of my panting breaths through the tiny holes in the hood. My ankles itch where the rope binds them to the spreader bar. I take a moment to orient myself on other body parts. The hood is comfortable but a bit hot on my face, making my body shiver naked from the fan turning slowly overhead. My wrists hurt so I try to wiggle them without much luck. The bell is in my hand and I must remember its presence should I need to let John know I need his attention. The ropes pulling on my nut sack keep them tight and sensitive. They ache in a way that isn’t too bad, just a bit unpleasant. The worst though is my bladder is unfortunately full. It won’t please John but at least the floor is tiled should I accidentally release myself. I stop my inventory and try to relax.

I tense suddenly feeling John watching me and about to touch me. Holding my breath, I wait. There’s no contact. I tremble in worry. I have no idea how long I’ve been in this hood and waiting. I assume it’s only been a few minutes. With no data, time seems to have stopped.

When something hard suddenly flicks my trapped balls I nearly rip my shoulders apart trying to get my hands free to cover myself. I don’t know what he plans. I can’t see him to deduce them either. Whimpering, I surrender myself over to his correction.

He told me to think about my behavior. I try to but the flicking continues. Each time, it’s like a little fireworks show in my head and the pain builds. I grunt and fight against it until a hand pushes down firmly on my chest, holding and calming me.

A lube slicked hand slides up and down my cock deliciously. I squirm again, trying to draw deep breathes through the tiny holes under nose. When my cock is abandoned, I nearly cum from the sudden lack of touch and my own keyed up imagination.

The flicking fingers are back and each time they strike my balls I am reminded over and over just how helpless I am. I’m lost in John’s control. Only he will decide when I’ve had enough, learned my lesson.

Tears arise and I recognize they are not from the pain, which is still fairly mild at this point. Why the Hell am I crying? Is it from feeling lost in this sea of darkness? I know I’ve disappointed John again but that isn’t the reason for my tears this time.

My cock is slapped with something and I assume it to be the riding crop. Only the tip is being tapped which causes everything to jiggle as my legs strain to keep still. I can imagine John’s seditious smile as he concentrates the slaps to the sensitive glans. He enjoys my suffering and my submission to his correction. Usually at this point he’d be scolding me. Perhaps that is what I need right now, his voice, guiding me in what I should be thinking about.

Now the torture of my cock being caressed returns. I’m being driven mad, unable to stop any of this and not knowing what to expect. My balls ache to explode but knowing my John I’ll not be coming any time soon. That thought alone nearly makes me drop the bell. If I did, he’d take the hood off to see to my emergency and I’d use the opportunity to beg like I’ve never begged in my life- with gusto and feeling. I grip the bell tighter and fight through the temptation.

My cock is held tightly in his hand and abruptly a trail of fire crosses the head. I can’t get very much room in the hood to fully scream but I can manage it somewhat. I yelp loudly as another painful trail is laid out now down its full length. The way it moves and feels I recognize it as the Wartenberg wheel from his medical kit. I cry out each time it rolls over the sensitive cock skin and though it feels like tiny needles poking into the flesh, I know no damage is being done. Knowing that bit of information is in no way comforting- John always uses the device to break my will. I howl now when it presses over the glans time and again, mercilessly. Oh God please, I think as hard as I can. I’m sorry!

It takes a few minutes to recognize that the wheel is no longer crawling along my cock. I fight to catch my breath. My senses are on high alert again, reaching out, seeking John. I’m not sure but I think he’s standing right behind me, watching me. I shiver uncontrollably.

Time passes. Twenty minutes? An hour? My eyes and ears hurt from trying to strain for some clue, anything, as to what might happen next. What would I do if John has somehow become incapacitated while I’m in this hood? How would I get out this? Panic descends like a hot, damp blanket. I wiggle my fingers, pull against the rope, and I twist trying to get free from them. I’m not going anywhere. I swear I hear a loud clock ticking away the minutes but I know that’s just my heart hammering away in my chest. I really can’t stand this.

I drop the bell.

And nothing happens! I thrash in my bindings trying to free myself to no avail. I pull and tug at the ropes to the table, wailing. The tears have little room to fall properly and the dampness presses against my cheek and nose instead. In my panic the holes seem too small to breathe through. I feel lighted headed. Through gritted teeth, I shriek John’s name over and over in anger and fear.

Then there is a gentle touch to my chest right over my heart, reassuring me of his presence. I cease my movement as soon as I feel him unlocking the hood and unlacing the back of it. Very slowly- an eternity later--- he pulls it from my head.

I lay my face against the smooth, cold table top, crying freely. John wipes me with a damp washcloth and I am finally calm enough to lift my head and look up at him.

“Where were you?” I growled fiercely, angry at having been abandoned.

“I was right here beside you the whole time,” He reassures me, his hand running gentle circles on my back. “I got you out of the hood as soon as you dropped the bell.”

“You did not! It was at least 5 minutes!”

John shakes his head, lays the hood to the side and picks up the washcloth again. As he wipes my face for the second time, his voice is low and soft. His damn doctor voice he uses with frightened patients. “I never left your side and it was only a few seconds before you panicked. I would never ignore you or leave you that vulnerable, Sherlock. Never.”

His words flood over and around me, holding me with just his voice. I have no idea how he does that. I feel better.

“I was planning a lot more but I think you’ve reached a limit tonight,” He murmurs over me. 

I nod. I just honestly want to rest. “Sleepy, “ I tell him.

“We’re going to cuddle and talk a bit first. But yes, you are going to bed early.”

I groan at him when he mentions talking but he ignores it. I watch him walk over to the freezer and my alarms go off. I’m suddenly very aware of the chastity device lying beside me on the table and of my hot, dripping cock begging for more attention. I close my eyes, pleading for intervention from angels.

My plea slips into my voice, ”What are you doing, John? I thought we were going to cuddle and talk.”

I hear the ice being shifted as he selects a few cubes from the box. Soon he is next to me again and he leans over to peck me on the cheek. “Yes, we are going to cuddle and talk. First though, I need to soften you for the chastity cage. Won’t be but a few more minutes. Stop whinging, boy.”

The rope is untied from my balls and the relief that spreads through my groin is a wash of warmth. I twitch as soon as the coldness bites into me and I yelp, begging, “OH GOD, John, PLEASE! No! I’ll be good! Please let me at least cum tonight.”

With a sharp, corrective hiss he asks me gruffly, “You think you deserve an orgasm, brat? After you worried us all with your disappearing act! After you abandoned your brother?”

I bite back my retort. It would only gain me further punishment. I whimper in submission. The ice is being held now against the glans and it is amazing how it feels like fire. My cock is deflating quickly. 

As soon as it is soft enough the cage is fitted over my cock and locked to the ring around the base of my package. Ropes slip away as I’m untied from the table. John assists me to stand and then wobble the few steps into the sitting room. He takes his chair and pulls me down into his lap.

Resting my head on his shoulder, knees up almost to my chest, I get comfortable. I know I have more punishment pending but tonight I can simply melt into his embrace.

“Well, what did you think about?” He asks stubbornly.

“Nothing,” I tell him honestly. When he tenses under me I quickly add, “The hood makes it all very intense. I couldn’t hold a thought for long. If you want me too I suppose I can manage Time Out again.”

He shakes his head to my relief. “That won’t be necessary. I think that last anxiety attack may be useful actually. Tell me about it.”

I sigh, shifting closer to smell his skin at his neck. He smells of tea and jam. I almost giggle. I play with the hair right behind his ear and he wiggles away from my touch.

He reminds me, “Sherlock, I know you need to bond with me but I want you to answer me.”

“I thought you were ignoring me when I needed you, that you had abandoned me. I was frightened. In my panic I thought the worst, that I was alone and vulnerable,” I explain. I lay my hand against the soft baby blue jumper and think how nicely it brings out his eyes.

“Hmmm,” John says. “Abandoned.”

It occurs to me he’s trying to make a point. Damn him. I grunt at the effort it takes to come to the same conclusion he’s implying. When I do, I want to roll my eyes but refrain. I know John too well. That sort of attitude would have me flipped over onto his lap for a few hard smacks.

I say instead, “I understand your point, John. I’ll talk to Benedict about leaving him at the crime scene and I promise it won’t happen again… to anyone I take to one. Alright?”

He nods. “And Greg?”

“I’ll apologize right now.”

With a bit of tussle, John manages to get his mobile and hands it to me, all with me still seated comfortably on his lap.

He listens in as I call the Detective Inspector at his home number. I say sincerely, “I apologize for leaving without telling you. I understand that worries you and that you spend valuable time and resources looking for me. It will not occur again. I’ll also stay with my brother. I hope you’ll consider inviting him back. It proved valuable to his role, I’m sure. Thank you. Yes, I’ll tell him. Goodnight.”

"Thank you, Sherlock, for apologizing,” John praises me. “I may have to have a shock blanket sent to his home for him though."

"Yes, poor Graham is not as young as he once was."

He laughs as he squeezes my hands. I still see doubt and worry hidden in his face but at least he's no longer angry with me. Tomorrow I’ll see what else he has in store for my correction. I snuggle back against him, loving the warmth and protection he’s providing.

As the stiffness and aches reawaken as I shift to get more comfortable, my thoughts turn less charitable. This is Benedict’s fault. He could have gone home without telling John I’d left him at the crime scene. He wasn’t scared, I’m sure of it. I cover my growl with a cough.

John has a Bad Thoughts Antennae, I swear. He grips my chin and stares into my eyes, “What’s going on in there? You are growling and moody all of a sudden.”  
I cross my fingers on the hand that is hidden between us and shake my head, lying, “No, nothing. Just stiff and sore. I’m going to bed, alright?”  
Even though he inclines his head and lets me up, I know his suspicions are aroused. I kiss him goodnight and flee to our bedroom. At least there, he cannot read my mind. I hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Sherlock, haven't you learned yet that lying is NEVER a good idea?


	3. Home and Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock take a road trip to Sherlock's childhood home to deliver news to his parents. 
> 
> John remembers the Christmas wish that came true.
> 
> This whole chapter is fluff. Lovely, warm fluff.
> 
> But watch out, John, family reunions can bring the beast out in the boy, remember?

John

I watch Sherlock’s twin twiddle with his phone and I think, ah so nervous twiddling, a genetic trait or environmental factor? The IPhone flips end over end, just as it’s about to drop out of his grasp his long fingers manage just in time to catch it and I breathe again. I know what we should buy him for Christmas, a Twiddle Proof phone case. I glance over at my boy, Sherlock, whose own brand new phone is spinning crazily in a barely controlled manner, and I decide to buy stock in the Lifeproof Company.

“Boys?” I growl at them both. “Could we please stop twiddling with our phones? Now, please!"

Benny grins from my left, is mirrored by Sherlock on my right. I think I’m stuck in some sort of Hellish nightmare or have simply gone mad. Instead I remind myself we are just on a road trip to see their parents. Same thing really, if you think about it. Sherlock speaks first, leaning around me to look at his brother, “He means you, Benedict. Better stop at once or you’ll set off the good doctor.”

Snorting, I remark dryly, “SET OFF THE GOOD DOCTOR? This GOOD DOCTOR has already been SET OFF by you twice in one day, SHERLOCK! And by the way, young man, I meant BOTH of you! Any more of that bloody twiddling and I’m taking the phones away for the duration of this trip!”

Benny slouches down, easing his phone into his pocket and sighs. “Wow, your fiancé is moody.”

Sherlock’s phone is still being tapped against his leg and I level an ‘OH JUST TRY ME, MISTER’ glance at him from the corner of my eye. The slight yelp it elicits is almost amusing, making my cramped spot between them in the backseat worthwhile. From the safety of front seat, Greg laughs. I swear that this is the last time I invite him along to be my saving angel. The last time I had spent time alone with just the Holmes family I thought I’d go mad. I want someone to help keep me sane- maybe run interference occasionally- not simply troll along to be amused by the Holmes family antics. I should have brought Molly instead. 

“Only two more hours, Doctor Watson,” The driver informs me helpfully.

I frown. God Help me! I tell him, “David, in two hours there will be nothing in the back seat except me and the cold corpses of two naughty boys.”

David glances into the rear view mirror at me and smiles serenely. “I’m surprised you agreed to this road trip, Sir. You could have gone with Mycroft on his jet, I’m sure.”

“Best choice between two evils. At least that’s what I thought at the time.” I close my eyes and will myself into my calm place. 

——————————-

And now comes the shrieks, hugs and kisses. I brace myself as we stroll up the walkway to the cottage and encounter the twin’s Mum and Dad. Mrs. Holmes seems to glide on air as she closes in on us, her arms wide and her face beaming. I’m sure its pure love driving her. She catches me first and as soon as she has squeezed and kissed he life out of me, she snags Benedict for the same treatment. In releasing me she has turned me over to Mr. Holmes for a firm handshake and shoulder chuffing. I finally break free, regain my bearings and search for Sherlock. He’s standing back pretending to brush something off his coat. With a puzzled look I silently ask him if he’s ok. I get a slight shrug from him as he smoothly darts away from his parents into the house.

“Oh, Hello, Greg!” Mrs. Holmes cries as she swallows him up with her shawl covered arms. Benny makes a run for it and following his example so do I.

When we are all safely tucked indoors I go in search of my boy. I find him in his old bedroom immersed in scientific equipment meant for a child. He looks pensive and when I enter the room he says softly, “I always thought maybe I’d give these things to my own son someday.”

I set our suitcase and my laptop bag by the chair and stand beside him looking at the beakers and tweezers in his hand. “I didn’t know you wanted children, Sherlock.”

“You never asked,” he replies as he sets the items lovingly back onto the desk.

“Something we can talk about though,” I answer. I’m surprised to see him shake his head firmly.

“A dream long lost, John, and that’s fine.”

I take his hand in mine. “It’s not lost…”

“What’s not lost?” Dad asks from the doorway. “Nothing’s ever lost in THIS house! Your MUM can hunt it down and find it again. Whatever it is, it’s saved by your good old Mum!”

Sherlock squeezes my hand, drops it and turns to his father. “Thank you, Dad. I see from the hasty buttoning job on your cardigan that Mycroft has arrived.”

“Yes, damn it, boy! Stop deducing! He’s just arrived!”

We watch his Dad stalk away and hear the usual squeals of welcome from the kitchen. Within a moment, Greg has wandered back into our room. “Wow, that’s intense. Mind if I hide back here with you lot?”

Sherlock grabs the desk chair and spins it around for him. Greg smiles gratefully and it makes me chuckle. 

“Quite the family.” Greg plunks down into the chair, shaking his head. He asks, “You sure you want to join it?”

I catch the slight frown from my fiancé as he regards me. I hurriedly answer, tossing Sherlock a wink, “Yeah, I signed up for this folly long ago.”

I pick up a toy soldier and think back to the Christmas Sherlock and I had finally discovered and shared our love for each other. Funny enough, it involved a tiny tin soldier just like the one I hold in my hands so many years later.

———————————————————————— TIMELINE CHANGE-----------------------------------------  
JOHN REMEMBERS:

“Do not shake, touch nor smell your present, damn it, Sherlock!” I warn him. His eyeballs are practically glued to the small blue box I’ve just set under the tree for him. “Stop looking at it, in fact!”

“Smell?” He asks, turning his head almost robotically to regard me. “Why should I not smell it, John? Does it have a unique scent?”

I throw my arms up in frustration, “I need to make up general guidelines for everything! DO NOT DEDUCE YOUR PRESENTS THIS YEAR!”

With a dramatic sigh, Sherlock tosses himself onto the sofa, scattering my holiday pillows in multiple directions. He snarls at them as though they are personally offending him. “Why in God’s name do we have so many pillows now? All red or green! And with ELK on them?”

I patiently pick up the pillows and push them all around him wherever I can. “They are Christmas CHEER. Those are REINDEER, Mr. I-Know-Everything, not elk. Now stop throwing them on the floor.”

The glint in his eyes should have been my warning. “John, they are called THROW pillows, correct?”

Sighing I nod, “Yes, correct.”

I barely manage to dodge the first flying reindeer pillow as it is thrown at my head. The next two bounce off my legs and chest and the fourth sails over my head, knocking down a few of the tinsel streamers over the window. Hell hath no fury like a holiday decorator scorned! I attack him right there on the sofa. 

I plow my knees into him, ducking sharp elbows and knees as I snatch at his robe intending to get him to his feet so I can knock him to the floor. My hand slips beneath his robe to the thin shirt beneath and I end up with a handful of nipple instead. I’m so angry I hardly notice and pull him towards the edge of the sofa anyway.

Sherlock grunts in pain as I drop him hard to the floor and stand over him. When he tries to rise I sweep his legs back out from underneath him and he lands hard on his bony ass with a bit of a yelp. Taking a wild swing at me, he leans forward and catches ahold of my trouser leg. Losing my balance, to keep from toppling over completely I end up astraddle his chest. We are both panting at this point and glaring at each other.

A frustrated sigh catches our attention from the doorway. “Boys! It is Christmas Eve morning. If you don’t behave there will NOT be happy Christmas for the two of you!”

“Mrs. Hudson, this isn’t what it looks like!” I state.

She lays her tray of Christmas cookies on our table, turns and smiles at me smugly. “It looks like it always does, John! You and Sherlock fighting about something Sherlock said or did that put you over the edge. Am I right? Or what did you think I thought I was seeing? A bit of an early morning cuddle?”

I leap from Sherlock’s chest. “No! Well, no. Um, we WERE fighting, sorry.”

“Oh, cuddle all you want,” Mrs. Hudson says. “Just no fighting at Christmas! I will not tolerate it!”

Irritated, I storm into the kitchen to start the tea. She follows behind me, swats my hand when I try to sneak a cookie away and actually tuts at me. “My flat. I can have one.” I remind her.

Serenely she slides them further away from me. “My cookies. You can’t.”

I know there’s no winning so I surrender. I glance at Sherlock as he finally wanders into the kitchen. He clutches an old photo from somewhere in his hands. Mrs. Hudson leans over his arm to take a look at it. “Oh, my. That’s a long time ago, you playing with your toys.”

“I played with those tin soldiers for hours at a time, re-enacting famous battles, of course.”

I take a look. There was a messy haired boy engrossed in setting up his soldiers in two groups. In his hand, a trumpeter in a smartly painted uniform. “Your Mum still have them somewhere?”

“Not these,” He answers gravely, looking sad. “They belonged to Mycroft and he said they were worth quite a bit of money. He sold the eventually when I went away to school.”

Mrs. Hudson pats him on the arm and thus distracted, I snatch a cookie and pop it into my mouth before she can see. Instantly, she pivots towards me, hawk eyes sharp and staring into mine. I nearly choke. I smile at her meekly, quickly chew and consider praying for angelic protection from the old demoness disguised as our sweet, mild mannered neighbor.

“Cheeky! Just like Sherlock! You two deserve each other!” She chuffs. She storms out the door before I can even apologize properly. From the stairwell I hear her shout a reminder to us about the party.

“Oh Lord, Sherlock, we have a lot to do before our party. Come on then, get dressed.”

Nodding silently, he lays the photo on the table and then heads to his bedroom to change as I go up the stairs to mine to do the same.

—————

His royal highness is not amused I can tell. He hates parties and now he’s agreed that we can host this year’s party for friends at our flat. He’s pretending to be wall decoration in the corner. Not even Molly can get him to say anything.

I grab his present from under our tiny tree and announce, “Shall we open presents?”

Greg, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson cheer and agree with me. Sherlock folds his arms and glares at me. I swear he should have a huge neon sign over his head that flashes BAH HUMBUG! I snort and hand the perpetual grouch his gift.

Taking it, he points to his desk. “Yours is in the top drawer. Wrapping is an act of pointless sentiment.”

I inquire, “How will I know what is the gift if you forgot to wrap it, Sherlock?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

I hear him unwrapping his gift as I go in search of my own. Sliding the desk drawer open, I know his gift for me the instant I see it. A lovely silver pen sits atop his research papers. On it is inscribed my initials. 

“So you can write more prescriptions,” He tells me. “Or your stories, should you desire to jot them down by hand someday.”

I turn to thank him and find he’s peering into the box with a soft smile. He lifts out the watch and puts it on immediately. Since I’ve known him he’s broken or lost several. This is the most expensive one I could buy. “Like it?”

“I do but I still don’t understand why you didn’t want me to smell the box, John.”

Sighing, I answer, “You’re an idiot.”

———————

The cookies have been devoured but before we can start in properly on the caroling and games, Sherlock has snuck away to his room. Greg inclines his head at me and I shrug. I say, “I don’t know what is up with him today. Unusual bad mood even by his standards.”

Molly interjected, “Maybe it’s the photo. I saw him looking at it several times this afternoon.”

“Homesick?” Greg asks. Stunned, we all look at him and he raises his hands in surrender. “Ok, maybe not.”

“I’ll go see if I can get him out of his cave. Give me a few minutes.” I cross the sitting room and knock on Sherlock’s bedroom door. I hear a grumble from the bear and open the door anyway.

“Forgot about us?” I inquire as I enter his room and close the door behind me. The room is dark, he’s flat on his back on the bed and I can barely see him. “Why do you hate Christmas so much, Mr. Scrooge?”

“I have a headache.”

I smile to myself hearing the small boy plea in his voice. “Oh, so happens you know a doctor, lucky you. You have paracetamol tablets in your bathroom?”

I don’t wait for a reply. I flip on the lights in his bathroom, obtain two tablets and a glass of water and return to his side. He takes the proffered pills and gulps them down. A quick glance at my patient even in this low light tells me he’s fine, just not in the mood for company.

“Come on now, Sherlock. You’ve been pensive and consumed in dark thoughts today. Out with it?”

“It’s childish. You’ll laugh.”

I sit in the chair at his bedside and reassure him, “I won’t.”

Sitting up, he scoots to the back side of his bed to lean against the wall or to distance himself from me- I’m not sure which. He folds his long legs to his chest, crosses his arms around them and resting his chin on his knees, makes eye contact finally. Taking a deep breath, he nearly whispers, “I used to believe in Christmas magic.”

I nod gravely. “Ok. Most children do, I think. Go on.”

“Most children, yes. So I suppose hoping for it to be real… as an adult, that’s weird?”

I shake my head. “Look at Molly and Mrs. Hudson. They have the Christmas spirit.”

The sad sigh shakes me to the core. My look must take on one of concern because he ducks his head to gather himself again. “I don’t mean Christmas spirit, John. I mean about magical things happening around Christmas. Animals talking, special wishes coming true, that lot.”

“You made a wish?” I finally deduce. “And you didn’t get that wish? Is that what you are saying?”

He answers me in a voice drowning in tears, “I’ll NEVER have that wish, John. Never. It is beyond my reach but so close within my grasp it physically hurts.”

When he buries his face in his hands, I rise and sit next to him. I don’t know what to say. I decide all I can do is listen if he’ll talk. Sometimes I feel so helpless and this is one of those times. “What did you wish for?”

He sniffles, “I can’t tell you.”

Thinking he means his wish won’t come true if he tells me, I nudge him to talk. “Come on, you can tell me anything.”

“Not this!”

I touch his arm and say, “You can trust me with anything. I won’t laugh!”

He glances sideways at me, wiping tears away. He looks so young and vulnerable, I just want to protect him. “You won’t leave?”

“Sherlock, I’m here. I’ve been by your side for everything. I’m not going anywhere, damn it! Now tell me!”

He’s suddenly leaning towards me, eyes closed and arms out. He pins me against the wall and unerringly he has pressed his mouth to mine for a long kiss. I know if I move he’ll interpret it wrongly. He’ll think I’m retreating. I soften my lips and accept him. There’s a murmur of surprise and his eyes fly open but we do not break the contact. I take his face in my hands and steady him, explore entering his mouth with my tongue and now that I am in charge of the kiss, he’s practically purring and trembling.

With a soft nudge to my chest he pulls away first. The look on his face is priceless. “John?” 

“Yes, still here.”

“Did we just kiss? I mean you let me kiss you?” He questions breathlessly.

I smile at him, brushing back a stray curl with my fingers. It is something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time. His hair is softer than I expected. “You attacked my lips, yes.”

“It’s ok?”

“It was great, Sherlock. Is it what you wished for?”

“I love you," He gushes out, almost embarrassed. “I wished for you to love me back.”

I pull him close for another kiss. “So happens you got your wish.

I don’t know when our friends left our flat but I wake up the next morning still embraced in Sherlock’s arms. We are fully dressed but there is an old blanket from the sitting room cabinet spread over the two of us. My ears feel like they’ll burn off. Our friends must know now that we have found each other. All of a sudden it doesn't seem very important. I’m with the man I love, have always loved, even if I was too stubborn to admit it.

I turn and discover he’s lying very still watching me. I caress his face. “Morning, Sunshine.”

Sherlock gives me a sly grin, “Happy Christmas, John.”

“Oh, my, yes. Happy Christmas, Sherlock. I suppose we've slept in enough, yeah?”

He pulls me closer. “Slept, yes. Kissed, no.”

We finally emerge from the bedroom late in the morning just as the sun really beams into the sitting room window. Yawning we look around in amazement. The flat is spotless. Our friends cleaned up after themselves. I turn to Sherlock and tell him, “We owe them a dinner or something.”

When he doesn’t answer me, I glance at him standing by the tree. He has something in his hands and seems speechless. I move to his side at once, expecting a bomb or something by the shocked look on his face but once I see what it is, I too am too astounded to move.

In his grasp lies a tiny tin soldier playing a trumpet. Attached is a small paper tag with ornate writing that states clearly:   
For Sherlock, never underestimate Christmas magic. Love, Father Christmas

Tears are flowing down Sherlock’s face as he turns and pulls me into his arms. This kiss is the hottest, longest, and deepest of my life. I never will leave his side. I love him so much my heart aches.

—————————————--------------------------------

John:

Returning from my fond memories of our first few days of our relationship, I find both Sherlock and Greg regarding me silently. “Oh, sorry, got a bit lost in thought.”

Sherlock has observed what I hold in my hands and grins. I lay the tin soldier on the table with other momentous and pull him into a quick kiss.

“Oi, get a room, you two,” Greg teases.

Sherlock turns towards him and growls, “This IS our room, interloper!”

Greg raises his hands and chuckles, “So it is, I’ll just shove off shall I? Let you two get in a good snog before supper?”

“Sounds great, Greg,” I tell him. I see him to the door. Closing it firmly, I slide the little bolt to lock it too. “Wish we had a do not disturb sign.”

“Come here, you,” Sherlock growls huskily at me. He yanks me down onto the squeaky mattress and right there in his childhood bedroom we express our love for each other- as quietly as we can.

 

OoooOOOoooOOOOOooOOOOOooOOOO

SHERLOCK

Someone knocks discretely on the bedroom door, laughing at the strange feeling I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t, I jump up to unlock the door. My father looks embarrassed and turns away quickly, “Not looking, just letting you know your mum has the table set. If you’re not there in ten minutes, she’ll feed your supper to the dogs.”

I nod grimly and tell John over my shoulder as my dad leaves us, “You better get up, old man. My mum will chuck our food to the dogs if we’re not on time.”

John is sliding back into his shoes and grumbles, “Oh she will not. She’ll just send it all home with us in doggy bags! And they don’t have dogs anyway!”

I look at him in the mirror as I straighten my shirt, fluff up my stubborn hair, “We don’t dare cross her.”

“Oh believe me, Sherlock. I know!”

John follows behind me to the dining area and we find the room full of my family. Mycroft, Benny and our dad are seated to one side, chatting animatedly about political affairs, Mum is humming behind them bringing another basket of homemade rolls to the table and Gavin is sitting at the end of the table, his eyes locked in on all the food. I offer a chair to John and making sure he is settled, I take my own.

Our two glasses of wine are poured and before we all dig in to Mum’s feast, I tap my glass softly. All eyes turn to me. My Mum is grinning as is Benedict. I stand, as is tradition for announcing important things, and clear my throat. “You know I’m not prone to sentimentality. I disdain such terms as true love and soulmates. It’s fodder for the less informed, for the poets and writers perhaps but not much use in the scientific world.”

Mum glares at me. “Are you coming to the point, son? The food is going cold.”

“What are you trying to say, Sherlock?” My dad grumbles.

“And I’ll warn you, Sherlock, I AM one of those less informed, sentimental writers!” John informs me with one of his looks.

“There comes a time when a young man grows up, leaves the shelter of his family home and goes forth to make his own way in the world. Perhaps he remains alone, stoically facing all challenges.” I add. I look to Mycroft who nods.

“YOU are going to be alone, if you don’t tell them soon,” John states.

“But on occasion, the young man finds a partner to share his life with. Someone that shares his values and goals. John is the man I plan on having in my life forever.” I say, ending with a grin.

When no-one says anything, John quickly interprets for me, “We’re getting married.”

There are cheers and congratulations all around the table. John tugs my hand so that I sit again. He pats my thigh, leans in close and murmurs softly in my ear when I bend down his direction, “Maybe you should leave announcements to me, baby.”

I chuckle and steal a quick peck before my Mum sees us and throws a roll at me. “Oi, Sherlock Holmes, no snogging at the table! Lord, I thought teenaged Benedict was bad! Do that in privacy AFTER dinner. Now let’s eat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder how many times John and Sherlock ended up 'fighting and wrestling' because they both were too stubborn to say I love you to the other person.


	4. Avoidance Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still visiting with his family, Sherlock decides he doesn't want to go along with his mother's plans and devises a way to get out of it. Feigning illness has always worked in the past. Unfortunately he overlooks one small flaw in his plans, namely one DOCTOR John Hamish Watson. Poor Sherlock.

Sherlock

Benny, sitting backwards in the wooden kitchen chair, has his arms over the back of it. He leans forward and rests his chin on his arms, his eyes locked on me. He says slowly once again as though I didn't hear him the first time, “So why won’t you invite her?”

I lift my feet to let John pass by as he takes a seat next to me on mum’s worn brown sofa. I lift my shoulders at my twin. I cannot explain the impossible. “She’s in America.”

“You assume she is,” Benny corrects.

“She IS an American, Benedict. She returned there after her father’s time as the ambassador ended. Or do you not recall that fact?”

Benny ignores the slight. “How long ago was that, Sherlock? When we were 18! Maybe she returned. People do that sometimes you know. And what does it matter if she is in America? She can’t come to visit for a friend’s wedding?”

John crosses his arms and calls out, “Who is SHE? The Woman?”

“Don’t be an idiot, John. The Woman is British.”

He points at me, frowning. “Attitude.”

I gaze at his finger a moment then say a touch more politely, “Rebecca Stewart, childhood friend.”

“Oh, she was a lovely, girl,” Mum states as she enters the sitting room with yet another plate of cookies. Setting them on the side table within John’s reach but well away from me and Benedict, she winks at him and adds, “She was Sherlock’s first crush, you know.”

Before I can blast my mother with a tirade I catch John’s sharp inhale accompanied by a tilt of the head, last warning. He nods at me when I hold my tongue and responds to mummy’s statement, “Yes, he did mention her, very briefly. I didn't know she was American.”

“Mmmm, cookies,” Mycroft says as he wanders in. I stand and moving quickly, snatch a cookie before my elder brother can. It makes John chuckle. Mycroft lifts his chin royally and levels a nasty gaze as I retreat back to my seat. “An American? Of whom do we speak?”

I catch Benny’s muffled snort. When we make eye contact he rolls his eyes dramatically at me, mouthing silently, “Of whom do we speak?”

Mycroft notes my return grin at Benny and spins to glare at him, “Stop your tomfoolery, Benedict! I know you were mimicking me.”

I sit back and let my long legs spread out in front of me with a deep exasperated sigh. “Rebecca Stewart, Mycroft. Benedict thinks John and I should invite her to our wedding.”

“Mmm, I don’t see why not. John’s family is not much to speak of,” Mycroft intones haughtily. He is brushing away cookie crumbs just as I rise and shove him backwards.

My action so surprises John that he sits there too stunned to move for a moment. It is Benny who comes between us as we snarl at each other.

“Oh Mikey, what did you say to upset Sherlock so?” Mummy enquires from the kitchen doorway.

“Not everyone was blessed with such a loving sibling as you!” I snarl at my elder brother. My heart is dark with real anger. Nobody disrespects my John.

John joins me and takes my hand. “Sherlock, it’s ok, I’m not upset.”

“Benny, bring Mikey into the kitchen to calm down. I want us all to take a stroll out to the lake for a late picnic this afternoon. Come help me pack it up,” She states. Benny obeys at once and pulls a reluctant Mycroft into the kitchen. Mum nods at John, taking her leave of us and shutting the door behind her. 

“He’s annoying. I apologize for him, John. That was an unkind thing to say.”

John shrugs, drawing me close into his embrace. It soothes the savage beast in me. Calmly now, I can return his hug. John squeezes so tightly suddenly I find it hard to breath. I try to wriggle from his grip but it locks on even tighter. “No, I want you to accept this, not run away after a few seconds.”

I count to twenty before he silently releases me, rises on his toes and plants a sweet chaste kiss on my cheek. I lay a hand over the spot, cherishing it. 

Grinning like a fool at my reaction, he chuckles at me. “I’m going to go help with the picnic preparations. Why don’t we save beating up Mikey for another day? You sit, log the kiss into your Mind Palace if you want, just stay out of his way until we go.”

I drop onto the sofa, this time kicking off my shoes and reclining. I tuck my hands up under my chin and do as John suggests. Once the kiss is safely cataloged with numerous others I allow my mind to drift a moment. Then startled at a random thought, I sit up. She’s packing for a picnic! Mum doesn’t just plan on a quick stroll to the lake and back. She intends for us to relax and chit chat until sundown! First on the way she will comment on every single flower in existence and father will fawn over her droll comments as though they were priceless. Benny will bound ahead like a sheep dog and come running back to announce the remaining distance to be traveled and the conditions of the trail. Mycroft will lag behind and complain incessantly about bad foot wear. And John and Greg will want to ask me all sorts of questions about topics I’d rather avoid, namely my childhood memories and family stories. Pure torture. I want out of this!

John comes into the sitting room again, munching on a roll. “Your mum can certainly cook, Sherlock. I don't see how you are not round as a barrel.”

“Mmmm? I would be if I ate everything she sets out,” I remark softly. I have my eyes closed still and I formulate a plan almost instantly. It’s an old one but reliable. I moan weakly and turn my body away from him. “John, I don’t feel well.”

“Well there’s still some time before we head out. Why don’t you go to the bedroom and lay down? I’ll come get you when it’s time to go.”

Sighing, I sit up, groan as I get to my feet and drag myself down the hallway. Dramatically I stop and lean against the wall. Once I enter my bedroom I close the door behind me. I stop and listen a moment to be sure John has not followed me. Once I am certain it is safe, I dash to a cupboard and pull out my mum’s heating pad. It’s been kept in the same place since I was a little boy and has come in handy numerous times.

I slip off my jeans and shirt before I clamber onto the bed, covering myself with a sheet. Turning to my side I plug the heating pad into the outlet. The cord is hidden by the bed itself and now I just have to conceal the pad under my pillow. Again I listen for telltale signs of footsteps in the hallway. I hear laughter in the kitchen so I feel I can carry on uninterrupted. I lay my face against the pad for a few minutes. I’m sure to give myself only a slight ‘fever’, I don’t want to end up in hospital after all. Suddenly John is closing in on the door and hurriedly I cover up the tool of my crime. I close my eyes and cough weakly as he enters.

John advances to my side at once and touches my forehead with the back of his hand. “I was coming to tell you to get ready but I think you are coming down with something. Stay in bed, I’m going to fetch the thermometer from your mother.”

“Make sure it’s the oral one, John.”

John snorts at my meekly offered jest and leaves me alone again. I reheat my face as I plot out the next course of action. I’ll have to get him to leave the room again once I have the thermometer. Just as he returns with it I know what I must do.

Cough. Cough. “John, may I please have a drink? My throat is parched.”

A doctorly look of concern and care crosses my fiancé’s face and I feel a bit bad for fooling him. Only a bit. “Here,” He says. “Put this under your tongue, I’ll be right back, baby.”

I nod as I pop the thing into my mouth. The instant he is out of my sight I push the thermometer under the pillow and press it hard into the surface of the heating pad. Thankfully the kitchen door squeaks loudly. I am fully prepared for John when he steps into my room. The thermometer is in my mouth and my face is likely a deep, sweaty red from the latest application of the pad. 

I cough as he takes the thermometer from my mouth to read it. He glances at it then at me, shaking his head. “Right, young man,” he says grimly. I hold my breath, ready to deny any accusation of criminal activity but thankfully he adds, “You have a fever and cough. You are staying in bed. I’ll tell your mum we’ll have to miss her lovely picnic.”

I shake my head. “No, John. I insist you go, enjoy yourself. I’m just going to sleep.”

“Are you sure, Sherlock?”

I yawn and scooch lower into the bedding. “Yes, I’m certain. You don’t want to miss mum’s little outing. Tell her I’m sorry I can’t make this one.”

John chuckles as he tucks the sheet around me gently. “You really must be very sick.”

Cough. “Why, John?”

“You are remembering your manners.”

I give him a faltering smile as he exists, closing the bedroom door once again. A few minutes later I hear the family heading out. I stealthily creep to the windows to make sure everyone has left. John and Greg are chatting already to my mum, carrying her basket between them. Dad is with Mycroft and Benedict looking like they are about to all argue over something as usual. 

Having the house to myself for several hours, I grin and grab my phone from my jeans pocket. Hastily I unplug the heating pad and stow it where it belongs. Finally ready for a lovely afternoon of peace and quiet I flop onto the bed and flip through the apps on my mobile until I find my favorite and start smashing candies like a maniac. I really want to get to the next level.

I’m totally engrossed in the game and don’t notice John’s return until he pops the door open and clears his throat. I drop the phone onto the bed and glance at him sheepishly. I toss in a hacking cough for good measure.

“I decided to come back, keep an eye on you. You had that walking pneumonia last year, snuck right up on you, remember? Not taking any chances.”

Frowning I smooth out the sheet as I scooch back down under them, furiously trying to think my way out on this conundrum John’s concern for my health has caused. He takes a seat in the chair, leans over and pulls his laptop out of its case and sets it on his knees. Quietly he begins to tap away.

“Are you going to sit there?” I grumble, eyes closed.

I hear him smirk I swear. I know all of John’s looks and he’s giving me the ‘I’m not going anywhere’ glance even though I’m obviously not looking at him. I sigh. This sucks. This was not my ingenious plan at all. “I can’t sleep if you type, John.” I wheedle.

“Sorry, baby,” he remarks. I take a slight peek at him. I think he’s putting away the laptop when he moves to the bag again but my hopes are shot down when he pulls out earplugs instead. “I’ll just watch something instead.”

Oh for FUCK’s sake. How can I be rid of him so I may do something other than lie here pretending to sleep? I moan rather loudly, despondent. “The light from your laptop is making it impossible to sleep!”

Another squint and I see him do a few things to the computer. Darkness reigns but he makes no move to put the damn thing away nor to leave. He says softly, “I’ll listen to music then. But I’m not leaving the room. You are too ill. I want to be here in case your breathing takes a turn.”

“I’m not coughing anymore. I can breathe just fine.”

“Not going to risk it. Now lie still and sleep, Sherlock.”

“I’m bored.”

“Hospital is more boring,” he reiterates smugly. 

I turn away from him and put my head under the pillow. I wiggle my hand stealthily over the covers until I snag my phone and pull it under the pillow too. I turn it on and open my game. The sudden dipping of the mattress alerts me John is at my side sitting on it in an instant.

“Nope, none of that. Hand over the phone. You need rest.”

“Aw, John,” I complain. A nudge to my shoulder makes me comply. I hear him click it off. 

The bed moves again as he stretches out beside me. “I’m going to take a nap too. If you need anything, wake me.”

“You might catch what I have,” I grumble.

After I long few minutes, he says, “Oh I didn’t tell you. I told your parents how ill you are and they asked us to stay a few more days to make sure you are recovering.”

The room is silent and my head is loud. This is far worse than time out. I consider confessing. What could be the worst he could do in my parent’s home? Spank me? Yes, the house was all quiet but surely they would return soon. He wouldn’t have time to punish me properly. Certainly not with any elaborate tying and we hadn't brought any of the equipment with us. At most, I’d get a warning and would be waiting for punishment at some later date after we returned home. Chances are good he might even forget by then. “Um, John?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I know you love me,” I start out on a high point, reminding him he can’t live without me. “And I know how keen you are to forgive me when I mess up…”

“Being sick isn’t your fault, Sherlock.”

“I faked it so I didn’t have to go on the picnic.” I held my breath waiting for the angry huff of breath. There isn’t one.

“I know.”

I turn over and look at him. “Excuse me? How did you know? My parents and Mycroft were always fooled by that routine!”

“Your fever was 106.2. You should be comatose by now, young man.”

Oops. “Oh, it was that high?” I ask.

“Mmmm, it was, yes,” he explains as he crosses his arms, tossing me a disapproving frown. “I’m a doctor, Sherlock. I’ve seen that ploy plenty of times with naughty children trying to avoid school. Where’s the heating pad?”

I sigh dramatically. “I unplugged it and put it away before you came back.”

“That was quite silly, wasn’t it? You are not a child in primary school anymore.”

“I abhor mummy’s social outings, John.”

He clearly isn’t buying it. His eyebrow has arched and I know I’m still in very hot water. “That was childish and disrespectful to your family and to me,” he states.

I hadn’t considered that. I felt a tiny spark of actual remorse. It so startled me that I felt my eyes tear up.

“Now I do not have time to discipline you soundly for this little bit of mischief. I will be taking you to the club the moment we return home to finish anything I start this afternoon. In addition you be getting plenty of family time! We have all of tomorrow still to be with your parents and you will be spending EVERY waking moment with them partaking in whatever activity they devise.”

“I’d prefer if you just shot me, John.”

“I imagine you do. No matter how painful and boring, time with loved ones is short, Sherlock. They will not always be around. Don’t worry, I’ll help you through it.”

“John, that’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Prefer to stay right here in bed on timeout all day?” he asks. When I don’t respond right away John’s ragesniff and tilting head alert me that I’m heading in the wrong direction again. 

I back pedal quickly to safer ground. “No, I’ll accept my penance with my parents. They’re not always boring.”

“Good. That’s settled then. No more whinging about it, clear?”

“Crystal.”

John rises and pulls the sheet back, exposing my near naked body. “Now for the start of your punishment, I think a good hard spanking with a wooden paddle is in order. Thankfully, I packed it.”

“You PACKED it?”

John smirks and nods. He walks to his bag and retrieves the short paddle that really stings when applied. I wriggle in discomfort, swallowing anxiously. “They may come home soon, John! Can’t we do this at home or the club?”

He shakes his head. “Oh we will be finishing this at the club, trust me. I don’t like being tricked and lied to. As to your family, they won’t be returning for another hour at least.”

I squinted at him suspiciously, “How do you know that?”

“Mycroft said he’d make sure the family stayed out for several hours.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “You told him? How could you? I feel so betrayed.”

“Ah, do you now? Actually I didn’t have to tell him. Mycroft deduces well too, you know? He realized that I didn't want to upset your mum by telling her you were faking it. He said you used to do that all the time though. But do not blame him or me for the trouble you are in. You deserve this.”

I observe how he weighs it in his hand, swinging it lightly to check its heft and balance. He knows that it brings unbearable heat with very little effort on his own part. Unfair. He should have to suffer if he’s going to be causing me misery.

He takes a seat in the chair again and simply gives me that LOOK. I’m furious he can communicate silently when he wants to but can’t seem to understand me when I try to. I stand and edge very slowly his direction, my hands locked over my ass. There’s always the slight hope of talking him down. “You’ll make me cry, John. I know you don’t want to embarrass me.”

“I’m sure they’ve seen you with reddened eyes, Sherlock.”

“Gavin will know.”

John doesn’t laugh. “Greg has held you down before in the club. I’m certain he’s not going tease you about this. He has a proven track record of trustworthiness in this matter.”

Ok, last chance. “But Benedict…”

“Your twin seems to be a kind hearted person, Sherlock. He hasn’t done anything that demonstrates otherwise. Now. Come. Here.”

Swallowing hard, I inch another inch closer, my eyes locked on the paddle in his hand. I can’t help whining just a bit more. “But that one really hurts!”

John sighs and rises. Rapidly I retreat back to the bed and sit upon the target of his displeasure. I find myself abruptly flipped over onto my belly, yelping as his hard hand connects several times as emphasizes his points. He growls, “It’s supposed to hurt, young man. May I remind you yet again that our disciplinary contract is something you brought up? I don’t enjoy having to paddle you and make you cry, I really don’t. But you told me you needed this. You begged for it, in fact. And it has helped! Your behavior has improved dramatically since we have had it in place.”

I lay still whimpering softly as he continues the heated swats with his hand. I suck in my lower lip, biting it. Knowing this is just a quick correction for failing to follow his command and not the actual punishment itself doesn’t help matters. I cry out sharply as a smack on each side reddens my sit spots. Finally he stops and rubs my back, calming me. 

“Now, when you are able, get up and come over to me. You can take a few minutes if you need to but we’re not discussing it further. You’re going to be paddled.”

Sniffling, I nod. After a moment he moves away and retakes his position. I pull myself together, join him and leaning carefully over his knees, brace myself on my hands. The floor has dust bunnies under the furniture. Funny the things you notice in this position. 

Thwack! Thwack!

I jump so hard from the impact it takes a steadying hand on my back to keep from banging my head into the floor.

“Easy now, you’ve gotten through these before. You need to focus.”

Thwack! Thwack!

Opposite side. Fiery bite and demolition explosion. I bury my face in my hands, focused on the point of impact.

Thwack! Thwack!

I don’t know if he’s being this slow and methodical on purpose but it’s having a profound effect on my nerves. I have just enough time to cope with the burn and to anticipate the next with misery. Expecting the lecture to begin in any moment, I wait, listening for the telltale sign of the paddle approaching. A soft swish. I brace for it, drawing in my breath, holding it as it smacks into ass cheek. Thwack!

“Now please tell me why you are being paddled, young man.”

Never hesitate. I know better. But the words drift away from me. I gasp out, “Ow, I can’t think. Give me a minute.”

Pressing against his knees, I command myself to brace for his anger at my failure to confess. Instead of the fresh barrage, John caresses the hair at the base of my neck. The sensation makes me shiver. “Take your time. I want you really to think this through. You know your decisions and actions were wrong. I want you to consider the impact they could have had on your parents. The affect they had on me.”

“My parents?”

“Yes, Sherlock. How would your mom feel to learn you had lied to get out of something she so lovingly prepared?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ok,” John says softly. I hear the gears in his head grinding to find the solution. He really does want me to understand his point. “Let’s try this then. My birthday last year. You tried to arrange a surprise party.”

“It would have worked if you had shown up at your usual time!”

A pat to my back. “Yes, Sherlock. But I was late due to that kid breaking his arm. How did you feel when something you planned for me didn’t go off as expected?”

“I was angry, disappointed.”

“And that didn’t feel good, did it? And that wasn’t even on purpose. What If I had decided I didn’t want to go to your stupid party and lied about my reason to stay at the clinic?”

Startled I ask, “Did you?”

“You’d be very hurt then wouldn’t you? A feeling you are very uncomfortable with.” 

“But did you lie to me?”

“Of course not,” John reassures me. “But you do realize that faking an illness is the same as lying to me?”

That tiny spark of remorse grows larger. It burns a little whole at the back of my throat. I swallow back the tears but the dam breaks. Sobbing suddenly, I grab his pants leg fighting to keep it together.

“Why are you being paddled, Sherlock? Was this necessary?”

“I lied to my parents and you. I didn’t want to go on the picnic but I should have told my mum, not faked being sick. I know you are constantly worried for my health. It could have scared you for no reason. I apologize.”

There’s a long period of silence. So long in fact I wonder if John is ok. I wriggle sideways form his lap and he allows me to. Settling in on my knees at his feet I gaze up at him, slightly confused to see he’s crying too. OH God what did I do now to upset him this badly? “John! What’s wrong? What did I do?”

John rests his hand on my head and ruffles my hair fondly. Smiling gently, he says, “I think maybe you just grew up a little bit. That seemed like a sincere, heartfelt apology.”

“So,” I state slowly. “I’m forgiven?”

“Always.”

I rest my head against his knees, rubbing the sting out of bum with my hands. “You’re still going to finish this at the club?”

A soft snort. “You know me well, Sherlock Holmes.”

\-----------

I’m pretty certain my mother nearly has heart failure when the family returns from the picnic a short time later. John and I are tidying the kitchen together after carefully icing a cake we have whipped up. Mycroft has absconded to the sitting room with it, closely chased by his father, his younger brother, Benny who carries the small plates and forks and by Greg. Only John and I remain in the kitchen with my mum. She tilts her head, regarding me with sparkling light blue-grey eyes. She tugs me by the hand closer to herself and then quickly pecks me on the cheek. 

I return it and whisper in her ear, “I apologize for being such a difficult son.”

She grins at me. As though we are holding a discussion of conspiracy, she glances around the room. She eyes John a moment but probably decides he won’t tell a soul what she’s about to say. Still, she nervously keeps an eye on the door and speaks hurriedly, “Don’t you dare tell him this or tease him with it but Mycroft is a far more challenging son than you.”

“Mrs. Holmes!” John barks a laugh.

She waves him off, giggling. “Oh I know! To tell the truth, all my boys are special. A real handful, each one in his own way. And you know what, Sherlock? I wouldn’t have it any other way!”

She swats me on the bum and smirks when I flinch slightly. She turns to John then and says, “But thank you for making him more human.”

I roll my eyes as John laughs so hard he spills his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear Sherlock has really earned a sctrict punishment session at the club this time. John NEVER forgets, silly boy.

**Author's Note:**

> I mean no ill will towards the very fine actor, Benedict Cumberbatch. In this case, this is a characterization of him for the purposes of fiction. No Benedicts, penguins, Sherlocks or Johns were harmed in this story.
> 
> There is a delightful GIF of of Sherlock and Benny sitting on a park bench. If you've not seen it, try to find it. It was the inspiration for this story.
> 
> The books Sherlock mentioned are real. They are DARK paranormal m/m books that you can find on Amazon. After I read them, I also like biting necks... mmmmm vampires.
> 
> I live for Kudos and kind comments. I try to answer comments right away but I don't always get the chance. Again, if you see something to be tagged, let me know.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
